


What I Know

by hardboiledbaby



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardboiledbaby/pseuds/hardboiledbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no denying that Heyes is the brains in this outfit. But there are things even he doesn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Know

**Author's Note:**

> The boys don't belong to me, except in that touchy-feely way they belong to all their fans. I do this for fun, not for profit. I promise to put them back in the toy box when I'm done playing with them.

Everyone calls me the smooth talker, the one with the silver tongue. Sure, I tell a good story, and somehow the more outrageous it is, the more folks seem to believe it. Even he says that the Blarney Stone kissed _me_.

But the truth is, he's the one who's got everyone conned; with his boyish charm and ready smile. And when he's not smiling, when he's dead serious with his gun out and aimed true, he still has 'em all fooled.

All except me. Because I know.

I didn't, not right away. Guess I'm a little ashamed about that, since I should've. As kids, I'd always known what he was thinking, as surely as if I'd come up with the thought myself. And he'd know what I was thinking, too. I'm not sure why; we weren't much alike, and what with me being older—only by a few years, but at that age it made a big difference—you'd expect we'd have little to do with each other. Instead, we couldn't have been closer if we were Siamese twins.

So I should've known as soon as I saw him again, but the long months we were separated took a greater toll than I realized. I had left him behind, partly in the hopes that he'd find some kind of normal life, but that didn't happen. Instead, he'd been forced to grow himself up when I wasn't looking. When we met up once more, there was an almost-stranger standing in front of me with something unreadable in his eyes.

~o0O0o~

  


I knew, finally, the day we _didn't_ rob the Union Pacific. That hot summer day, the Devil's Hole Gang tried to hold up a train that had more protection than we'd bargained for. A _lot_ more. The whole thing was not one of Jim Santana's best plans, not by a long shot. I had had a bad feeling about it, even before we went in, but the promise of a fat government payroll was too tantalizing to resist. Naturally, we would have resisted if we'd known about the platoon of soldiers on board, but no one bothered to mention that minor detail.

We got routed, plain and simple, but we managed to get away pretty clean. Without the payroll, but the gang was too grateful to be breathing to waste that breath on grumbling, at least right then. Some might say we had been incredibly lucky, but that's not true. Luck had nothing to do with that day's fiasco.

The locomotive had barely stopped when it became obvious that we were outnumbered and outgunned. Troops began swarming off the train, and the air quickly filled with dust, smoke and the smell of gunpowder. The deafening din of frightened horses, panicked men and flying bullets was all around, and suddenly I was lost in a choking, blinding haze.

I was turning to run for cover when I heard him call out, sharp, "Heyes, get down!" I reacted at once, dropping as flat as I could on the rocky ground. As I did, I felt something pluck at my sleeve and a burning sting cross high on my left arm.

I looked up to where I had heard the shout, several yards away, just in time to see his stony face and fierce eyes. I'd never seen him look like that before, and it would have frightened the hell out of me if I wasn't already scared spitless. As it was, I could only stare at him numbly as he raked me with a swift glance, assuring himself that I was okay, before he pivoted and disappeared from my sight.

As I twisted over to get back to my feet, I saw the soldier behind me.

He was young, no more'n eighteen, if that. He sat on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted down as though intently studying the revolver in his hand. His private's uniform was brand-spanking new, still stiff and starched like he'd put it on for the first time that morning. The only thing that marred its appearance was the blood that had run down his chest, from the bullet that pierced his heart.

~o0O0o~

  


See, at that point, he hadn't been with the gang long, and not one of us recognized what he was capable of, until that day. Of course, I'd seen him shoot—and shoot well—lots of times before. Even as a boy, he'd had a sharp eye and a steady hand; from the very first time he pulled the trigger, it seemed to come as natural to him as breathing.

And it wasn't that the men hadn't seen him handle a gun either. In order to join the gang, he had to convince Big Jim that he'd be an asset, which he did by demonstrating some fancy target shooting. There was no denying it was an impressive show. In fact, I was secretly a little surprised at how much he had improved during the time we'd been apart. His gunplay was a thing of beauty; smooth, effortless, with no wasted motion, and uncannily fast.

And yet, impressive though it was, somehow we still didn't truly realize what he could do.

Until that day....

Like I said, it wasn't luck that saved our skins, it was him. By all accounts, he had been everywhere in that chaos, laying down cover fire and keeping the troops pinned down and ineffective long enough for us to escape without being followed. Kyle swore to me later that he saw him, "a gun in each hand, honest injun, Heyes; shootin' and reloadin', runnin' and jumpin', never stoppin', all graceful and fearless like." I looked into Kyle's wide eyes and believed every word.

On the long ride back, he seemed fine, and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But he was the only one. All the other men, even Big Jim, were treating him with a new-found respect; the kind that was tinged with fear and practiced from a safe distance. The exception was Kyle, of course—he'd already worked up an admiration for the Kid, so the day's events just kicked up his hero-worship a notch or two. Me? I'll admit to a little fear, but it wasn't for myself.

We set up camp at sundown and hunkered down to eat, rest, and lick our wounds. All through chow, I stared into the flames of the campfire and wondered how I was going to fix this, or even if such a thing were possible.

We hadn't spoken to each other since before everything happened, and I still wasn't sure what I was going to say now, but I couldn't leave it be any longer. I grabbed two cups of coffee and walked over to where he sat. The air had cooled off as evening fell, but he had chosen a spot far from the fire and the men loosely clustered around it; where light and shadow met and danced.

He heard me, of course; I saw his back tense up as I approached, but otherwise he didn't react as I sat down nearby. I held out a mug.

"Coffee?"

He swiveled around and reached out to take the cup. We sat for a while, drinking in silence. I studied his profile as best I could, looking for... something. I wasn't clear on what, exactly. Just something, anything, to tell me what he was feeling.

I was so intent on my scrutiny that I almost jumped when he spoke.

"How's the arm?"

"It's fine; hardly a scratch," I said, fingering the ripped fabric. "Thanks to you." I hesitated, then decided to take the bull by the horns. "Kid, you—"

"Heyes, it's okay. I know what you're gonna tell me." He turned to face me, with that something unreadable back in his eyes.

"Huh?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up a little, either at my dimwitted response or my dumbfounded expression, but then it disappeared.

"I didn't have a choice. He was going to shoot you in the back; it was the only way to be sure, there was no time for anything else. I had to kill him." He tore his eyes away from mine and looked down into the mug. "I shot to protect you, it wasn't in cold blood; I shouldn't feel guilty." He swallowed hard and continued, "Anything else you were going to say? Or have I covered it all?"

I heard a voice I barely recognized as my own saying, "Kid, all of that's true. I-I'm sorry you had to do that for me, but I...." I stopped, inwardly cursing my faltering tongue.

"Don't be, Heyes. I'm not. It's not your fault. I'll make my peace with it." He tossed the dregs of the coffee out into the darkness and stood up. He extended his hand, I took it and he hauled me to my feet. He held on for a moment longer, his gaze on my torn and bloody sleeve. When his chin tilted up, his face was close to mine, closer than it had been in a very long time.

That's when I knew. And he knew that I knew.

Without another word, he released his grip on me and headed over to his bedroll. He settled down for the night, his gun still strapped to his side. Like it always was, these days.

~o0O0o~

  


I wasn't on watch that night, but I might as well have been, since I couldn't sleep anyhow. Thoughts were churning in my mind, tumbling around as though my whole world had turned upside-down. Which, in some ways, it had.

This wasn't the first time.

I didn't know when, or how, or why; hell, I had nothing, only the absolute certainty that it had happened.

He'd killed before.

Somewhere along the line, while he was on his own, someone had died at his hand.

And he hadn't told me. Hadn't said one word about it.

I recollected our time at the Boys' Home, where a spindly, curly-headed kid had dogged my every step, asked me every question under the sun with complete faith that I'd have all the answers. He'd trusted me then with his secrets, his fears; it sounds overly dramatic to say, but in truth, he'd put his life in my hands, in much the same way he'd given me the tadpoles he'd fished from the creek; happy to hand them over into my keeping and supremely confident that I'd take care of them. I'd always prided myself that I had.

Until now. Now, I knew that, when it had counted the most, I had failed him.

I thought about the soldier, tried to imagine how I'd have felt if I'd been the one who fired the bullet, but couldn't. Already there was an unreal, dream-like quality about the memory. The only part that came through clearly was the Kid's face. That image was the last one I had before I finally dozed off.

~o0O0o~

  


After almost a week of pussy-footing around him, everyone else started to relax and things more or less went back to normal. By that time, I'd almost convinced myself to let sleeping dogs lie. He wasn't avoiding me, exactly, but there was a slight wariness in his expression whenever I approached him that made me worried. There was a skittishness there that told me he'd bolt like a wild mustang if I pushed him too hard. Either that, or he'd flatten me, and I wasn't keen for either of those things to happen.

Late one afternoon we were in the bunkhouse, along with most of the other men, waiting on supper. There was a group playing poker at the table, while the rest of us were scattered around on the bunks. I was reading, he was sleeping with his hat tipped over his face. Suddenly, there was a yell, the door crashed in, and a body hurtled into the room. Half a heartbeat later, Kid was on his feet, crouched low, with his gun out and aimed true.

The crate that Lobo had been carrying when he'd tripped lay smashed and broken in pieces, with its contents of supplies strewn across the floor. He was getting to his hands and knees in mid-curse when he looked up, straight into a steel gun barrel and steel-blue eyes. Lobo's face turned ashy and whatever he'd been about to say froze dead on his lips. Everyone froze.

The Kid re-holstered and straightened up. Without saying a word or looking at anyone, he picked up his hat and, side-stepping the sprawl of man and mess, left the bunkhouse.

When I could, I took a shaky breath, and another. Then I went after him.

~o0O0o~

  


He had clambered a-ways up the mountain behind the hideout, to an outcropping of rock that was fairly level. From here, the compound was hidden from view; in fact, nothing man-made could be seen. It wasn't the prettiest of vistas, but the stark landscape had an untouched purity and peacefulness that was its own beauty. I hadn't known the spot existed, all that time that I'd been there, and wondered when he'd found it.

When I got to the ledge, he was sitting on a large boulder, facing west toward the sunset.

"Go away, Heyes." The growl was anything but inviting.

"No. We gotta talk."

"I don't wanna talk."

"That's just too damn bad. We're gonna, whether you want to or not."

I sat down, careful to be out of arm's reach. The pisspoor mood he was in, I wouldn't put it past him to take a poke at me, just to shut me up.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You saw what happened. Lobo got clumsy, and almost got his fool head shot off—"

"Not today. Before." My throat tightened up, but I managed to finish, "When I left you to fend for yourself."

"When _you_ left—" He turned to face me, his anger replaced by surprise. "What the hell are you talking about? We had an argument, and seems to me we left each other!"

"Maybe so, but I shouldn't have... abandoned you." To my amazement, he started to look amused at this. "What's so funny?" I said, a little peeved.

"You. Saying you 'abandoned' me, like I was some helpless baby you dropped off at the church doorstep." He shook his head. "You've been feeling guilty, all this time, haven't you?"

I couldn't think of what to say to that. Luckily, he wasn't waiting for an answer.

"Shoulda known you would be. All them brains, I guess it's to be expected that sometimes you think too much." He wasn't smiling now, but he didn't look angry either. "I'm not mad at you for leaving, never was. Splitting up was as much my choice as it was yours. It wasn't the best choice, mind you, but that ain't all your fault. As for what happened, after... well, that wasn't your fault, either."

I was being offered absolution, but I couldn't accept it yet. I hadn't done the penance. I looked him square in the eye, and all but begged him without words, _'Tell me.'_

He sighed, and turned back to squint into the last bright, glittering rays before the whole sky turned red and orange and purple. It was getting late, and if we didn't start back soon, we'd still be on the mountain when darkness fell. Not that I cared. We were gonna finish this, one way or another, and I wasn't budging 'til we did.

It took a while and I was beginning to think we really were going to spend the night up there when he spoke; low and soft, but I heard every word:

"Heyes, every time I draw, in that moment just before I pull the trigger, I see things; possibilities, you might say. Real clear, like. All the ways it could end. Most of 'em are bad; sometimes all of 'em are. I suppose that can't be helped; when you get to where you need to settle things with a bullet, it don't hold out much hope for a happy ending.

"It don't keep me from using my gun, if I have to. Every man that I've ever shot was looking to hurt me or someone else. I don't feel regret or guilt about what I've had to do, and I'll do it again, to protect me or mine.

"Still, killing someone... that takes something away from a man, a piece you never get back; no matter if you meant to or not, no matter even if it was the best possibility. Or the only one.

"So, I do what I can to avoid it, and learn to live with it when I can't. And that's all I'm gonna say about it. Ever."

He stood up, stepped past me, and started back down.

I hurried to catch up. I don't think he wanted me to at first, but I didn't try to talk, I just fell in step with him. After a sidelong glance at me, he made no objection, and we walked together in the fading light.

~o0O0o~

  


So now I know what no one else does. I know that my best friend, the man with the boyish charm and the ready smile, he walks through life with a part of his soul missing. And maybe he's right; he may never get it back. But I also know he'll always have a friend who'll walk by his side and do his damnedest to share the load. Protect the part that's left. Maybe fill up some of what's been taken away.

I just hope he knows it too.


End file.
